


Little Fox

by HistoryGurl1994



Category: Barkskins (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sort Of, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoryGurl1994/pseuds/HistoryGurl1994
Summary: The whispers drift down from the parlor, uncaring as to whether or not she hears.
Relationships: Renardette and Hamish, Renardette and Mathilde
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Little Fox

The whispers drift down from the parlor, uncaring as to whether or not she hears. 

“Witch...cursed…exorcism…”

The girl in the cellar touches her mark, the same that her mother had. Her Christian name was left unspoken, but who else could they be discussing at this time of night? She sighed, moving to sit on an abandoned crate. Her father and stepmother were relentless. What is the worst she could have done?

Her mother, rest her soul, was a simple woman. She loved her child, taught her the secrets of the woods. How to find herbs for headaches, what can be used to stem bleeding. How to save a man who has been poisoned. These secrets ran through her family line, hidden for years and taught to the eldest daughter. Or, in her case, the only daughter.

Her father was the polar opposite. A strict, religious man, the kind who feared traversing too far into the woods. He had loved his wife when they first met, but her ideas did not favor his upbringing. The rift became deeper when their daughter was born. He opposed the teaching of herbal remedies in favor of those prescribed by the nearest doctor, a butcher by trade. Her mother rejected those ideas, learning more about herbs from the Wendat, taking her daughter deeper into the woods to watch as teas and salves were created. 

When the girl was ten her mother died. A strange illness that would not be cured by any remedy. Her father did not mourn. She heard him whisper to her brother in the middle of the night. Wishes and prayers that she would have been taken as well. Her brother agreed, for what else was he to do?

Her father remarried shortly after. This new wife hated her. She blamed her for the misfortune that befell the family. Her eldest brother died “because of the marked child.” He was crushed by a tree during a storm, when she was tending to the animals in the barn. Her infant sister was taken shortly after. The doctor said it was natural, the child had been ill for a while. Her stepmother claimed it was witchcraft. Her father agreed.

To save the family’s name and position they moved to a new settlement, close to the village of Wobik, severing all ties with the past. Except for her. A house had been abandoned and the family had quickly taken it over. Her stepmother demanded that something be done about the marked child. The cursed one. Her.

Her father locked her in the cellar until something could be done. They called for a priest from Wobik to visit the settlement. Her father asked him to keep his true purpose a secret.

“I can perform the exorcism tomorrow.” The priest spoke quietly. “There is no guarantee that it will work.”

“I want her gone.” Her stepmother’s shrill voice carried through the air. “If she cannot be blessed, I want her drowned.”

“All of God’s creatures-”

“My wife is right. If she is not blessed, she is better off dead.” Her father’s stern reply. The girl sighs again, looking at the floor. She moves to rest in the corner, her bed a discarded burlap sack. The settlement is quiet as she closes her eyes.

Screams woke her from her slumber. The smell of burning wood wafted through the cellar doors. The girl stood quickly, panic setting in. Did they intend to burn her? She listened closely to the sounds outside. Women’s screams, children’s cries. Gunshots. The girl opened the cellar door slowly before climbing out of her dungeon.

The small of burning homes invaded her nostrils. She looked around in wonder as she took in the scene. Iroquois and British men attack the settlement, bodies on the ground. A massacre. The girl quickly weighed her options before running to the woods. To safety.

She was stopped by a firm grip on her arm, a familiar grip. Her father’s. “You cursed child! I should have killed you when you were born!” 

Emotional less, unflinching, the girl picks up a knife discarded on the ground. She smiles at her father, the first time she had done so since she was a child. Her cut is slow, painful. Her smile still in place as her father fall, his hands clasping his neck. She looks up, meeting the eyes of one of the British men. He steps back, terrified, as she turns and resumes her escape. As she leaves the settlement she stumbles upon a body. Her hand is covered in blood and she gasps. His face is unfamiliar, she cannot place the man. She hears the cries of the Iroquois and looks for safety, climbing a tree to hide until daylight.

She remains in the tree until well after daybreak, climbing down when she is certain the men are gone. The girl stumbles through the woods in a daze, uncertain of where to go. Her mother’s voice echoes in her ears. “Follow the streams to fresh water. These berries are poisonous, do not eat them. This root can sustain you for as long as necessary if you are lost.” She takes those words to heart and begins to search for the tell-tale flowers. She soon finds food and water.

Days pass and no one comes. She befriends a wolf, another witch-like trait that her father hated when he was alive. The girl does not return to the settlement, but does stay close by. One day her companion leaves. She waits for her to return, uncertain as to where she went. When she does, she is not alone. Two men are following her. Saviors. The wolf looks at the girl and flees into the woods. The men find the girl, staring in shock as she stands before them. A survivor. She faints, exhaustion setting in.

One of the men carries her to the settlement, careful not to drop her. He leaves her with a woman who introduces herself as Mathilde. Who says that she’ll help her. Who seems to care. The girl shakes and does not offer her name. Mathilde helps her clear away the dirt and grime from her time in the woods. She notices her mark. “A fox? I will call you Little Fox. Renardette. Just until you tell me your name.”

Renardette. The girl smiles softly to herself when Mathilde turns her back to answer the knock on the door. She likes the name; it reminds her of her mother. Mathilde reminds her of her mother. She hears the whispered conversation in the hallway, the kind man from before promising to keep watch. The girl-Renardette-stands slowly, walking around the room. Her new home. She has never felt safer.


End file.
